


...And She Doesn't Grade On A Curve

by AmberDiceless



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 21:31:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20607653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmberDiceless/pseuds/AmberDiceless
Summary: God does not play dice with the Universe...Gabriel gets a piece of Somebody's mind.





	...And She Doesn't Grade On A Curve

When Gabriel returned to his office and shut the door behind him, wanting nothing more than to sit in solitude with his head in his hands until the unaccustomed tremors eased, he found he had an unannounced visitor.

A woman was sitting at his desk, flipping idly through one of the dossiers Michael had presented to him, and that he'd kept locked in a warded drawer.

“I—I'm sorry,” he said with a surprised frown, glancing in the direction of Heaven's reception desk. He had _people_ to head off intruders; why weren't they doing their jobs? “Did we have an appointment?”

He clasped his hands together, forcing an unsteady smile and taking a few steps forward. “It, ah--it must've slipped my mind. This really isn't a good time. I'm afraid I'm going to have to reschedule, Miss...?”

Closing the cover of of the dossier and sliding it aside, the woman looked up at him.

Gabriel met her gaze, went abruptly as white as the walls around them, and dropped unceremoniously to his knees.

“_You...”_

(Afterward, he'd find he couldn't quite recall the details of Her appearance, largely because they were beyond his own ability to perceive with any accuracy. Even Enochian, the tongue of angels, held no words adequate to recount the shade of Her eyes, or the hue of Her hair, or the shape of Her face. She was, quite literally, indescribable.

That was _one_ word for it, at least.)

“Hello, Gabriel,” She said, a bit testily, folding her hands on the desk before Her. “Have you sent him home?”

“Have w—I—you....you mean the--Aziraphale?” the archangel croaked, glancing back in the direction he'd come from. “Ah...yes. He—well, unassessed threat, we weren't prepared. W-we thought it best to wait—reevaluate before we decide on a course of action. Was that...wrong?”

He clambered to his feet, almost tripping over himself in his rush to try to offer up a correct answer. “Because I can get him back! I—should I send someone?” He pointed anxiously in the general direction he thought his colleagues had dispersed, edging toward the door. “Sandalphon! Our best operative. Rogue Principality, hellfire capabilities, demonic collaborator? No problem. He'll get the job done. Ten minutes, tops, if I send him right now. Or,” he swallowed, “or I can go. He, Aziraphale, he--he's not completely unreasonable. For a, y'know...fire-breathing traitor, I mean. I-I'm sure I could, ah, persuade him. Pretty sure. Should I...?”

“...no.” She sighed and waved a hand, and Gabriel found himself seated in one of the intentionally uncomfortable chairs he kept on hand for visitors. “He and Crowley are the least of your concerns. I'd strongly advise against disturbing them again.”

“But...but they're seditionists. They've been fraternizing for eons,” he protested weakly, watching Her rise and walk around the large minimalistic desk, leaning back against it and regarding him ruefully. “We have proof—I mean You saw, just now. N-not that You didn't already _know,_ I'm sure.”

“Of course,” She said patiently, folding Her arms. 

“They derailed Armageddon! On purpose!” Gabriel very nearly whined. “We had to do something. If we let them get away with it, the next thing you know we'd have dissidents and defectors coming out our ears. Angels and demons exercising free will, consorting all over the place. It would be chaos!”

“Armageddon, shmarmageddon.” She shook Her head calmly. “Aziraphale and Crowley didn't stop it—they were bit players, at best. Mankind was tested, and they passed. What was written has now been crossed out. Creation will carry on—for a while longer, at least.

“And frankly,” She added, “this place could do with a little chaos. Discipline is one thing, but you've turned Heaven into a police state. Goon squads working angels over, execution without trial...'Shut your stupid mouth and die already,' _seriously?_ You thought _this_ was what I had in mind when I let you take the reins?”

He opened his mouth and shut it again, and the look that came across his face could almost have been described as rebellious.

“Maybe we...well, got a little carried away. But still...six thousand years,” he said bitterly. “Millennia of planning and work, and now Heaven and Hell are supposed to just throw it all out the window and start over?” He bowed his head. “Forgive me, please. I know I shouldn't question. I've never done anything but tried to be obedient to You. But that—that's not _fair.”_

“Haven't you? Gabriel,” She repeated, shaking Her head, and it was all he could do not to burst into tears at the sound of that voice speaking his name again after so immeasurably long a silence—and at the fathomless _disappointment_ it held. “My Messenger. What do you know of fairness? All those times you conveyed my will to others, did you ever once stop to _listen_ to the message? To the words my son sacrificed his mortal life to deliver? The two you denounce bear more love in their hearts than all of Heaven's captains put together.”

“I don't understand,” Gabriel said, bewildered. “You—that was all for...them. The humans. They're so--”

He stopped himself in the nick of time, choosing his words more tactfully, even as he realized it was futile; how he expressed himself wouldn't change how he really felt, and that could never be hidden from Her.

“They have such limited understanding,” he finished. “Of course they needed instructions. But You can't mean...all of that couldn't possibly have been meant to apply to...”

He swallowed hard, eyes widening as a long-belated epiphany struck, and a terrible sinking feeling came over him. “...us?”

She sighed, straightening up and stepping forward, closing the distance between them.

Gabriel shut his eyes as She reached out to cradle his face. Her touch was gentle, even tender; but it carried with it a subliminal thrum of power, vast and old and so very _familiar, _that resonated almost unbearably in the core of his own ancient being.

“My poor, foolish child. Did you really believe,” She said softly, “that it was only _them_ I was testing?”


End file.
